


Fallout: After the Storm

by BeeBeMe



Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Harm to Animals, Harm to Children, Inspired By Tumblr, Multi, Pre-War, Robot/Human Relationships, not explicit for the last two just for the record
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeBeMe/pseuds/BeeBeMe
Summary: Inspired bythis neat post.No one thought the bombs would ever drop.Surely, cooler heads would prevail. The mere idea of mutually assured destruction would keep any wandering hands off of that big, red button. What of future generations? What of us?Perhaps we were blind. After all, if you heat up a frog slowly, it won't think to hop away until the water's already boiling. The world got colder, and we got blinder - but nuclear explosions are quite hard to ignore.Follows the lives of a handful of survivors as they attempt to navigate the immediate aftermath of the Great War.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	1. Hide the Mountian from the Mole-Hill Man

**Author's Note:**

> Wow two new projects in one week huh? It really is quarantine season. I hope y'all enjoy! 
> 
> _Hide the mountain from the molehill man  
>  (Let it go)  
> Dig a hole to hide the seeds in  
> Make them grow  
> Pick a fruit  
> And make the wind blow back to you..._
> 
> \- [Axolotl (again), by Cosmo Sheldrake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gi68aYAKM1Y)

**October 22, 2077 (Tillamook)**

Life was good on the farm. Toby was the master of his Master's land, ruling over vast, rolling fields of green, flecked with small streams and ponds. The cows listened and did what Toby said. He was fed handsomely by his Master, more than enough to provide for his mate and pups. Every day, he and his mate would work hard, eat their fill, and sleep soundly. The ocean roared in the distance, the bay sparkled in the sun, the moon rose and fell, the clover bloomed and wilted. Steady and sure, with a promise of tomorrow.

A good life, until his Master went away.

It had been several sunrises since Anne had their pups. Four tiny replicas of themselves - strong and loud and brown and black. They nursed well, Anne and Toby were proud. Since that day, the pups would wake them long before the chickens. They would toss and yip and nudge at Anne's stomach - kicking Toby in the process. The soft, plush thing that Master had given them was plenty big enough to stay away from their strikes, but Toby had no desire to be far from any of them. 

Still, when a particularly strong hind-leg caught the shepherd in the gut, he couldn't help but growl. Anne returned one of her own, a blue eye cracking open to glance at his brown. The message was clear - if he wanted to be grumpy, he had to do it somewhere else. Toby rolled over and up, the hay scratching at his paws as he stood. He had no want to provoke his mate's wrath, so he would let the pups kick. He would simply start the day early. 

The sun had just crested over the mountains, sending the water in the bay shimmering and sparkling. The light painted the clouds orange as Toby climbed the short hill beside the shed he and his mate called home. He could see the cows ambling about inside the barn, waiting for Master and the metal masters to milk them. Once they were done, he and his mate would guide them out to pasture. The cows would return, and the process would repeat until the sun sunk into the sea. 

Like any other day, the metal masters - not Toby’s masters, not ever - exited their sleeping place and entered the stockade. Toby did not take orders from them, so Toby sat, waiting for his Master to rise and begin the day.

His Master did not appear. 

The sun came higher, hovering above the hills in the distance. Slowly, the cows trickled out of the barn and into the stockade. Anne gave a bark from inside. Master’s pups had not come to watch their pups, so Anne could not leave them. Toby did not want her to leave them. So, he trotted down the hill alone for the first time in years. 

There was no sign of Master at the bottom, not that Toby expected there to be. Toby knew to do his job, and do it on time. Master did not need to look for him. Toby was a good dog. Though, as he looked to Master's house, Toby knew that some things were more important than being a good dog. Toby glanced at the steadily growing crowd of cows in the stockade, then up the road to Master’s house. The cows could wait. One of the metal masters exited the barn and called his name, but they were not his Master, so Toby did not listen.

The shepherd trotted up the gravel road to the two-story house. Toby had been allowed inside the towering building more than once. Back when he was a pup, new to the world and unknowing of his place, he lived within the Master’s house. But, all pups needed to grow and find their own home. The shed was not as nice, but it contained Anne and their pups, so there was no place Toby would rather be. He hoped his Master felt the same about his own home. He wouldn’t leave, would he?

The front door was ajar. Strange, considering his Master’s mate’s insistence on keeping the house sealed. Toby had never understood that - there would be no breeze, no scent of grass and flowers. Anne liked flowers. Toby’s nails clicked against the wooden porch, gently nosing the door open just a little wider. He shouldn’t go in there. Even with his Master and family present, he wasn’t welcome. Now that they were nowhere in sight? It was even more foreboding.

Toby whined, long and low, glancing from side to side. He was scared, but what if they were injured? There was one horrible time that one of Master’s pups got kicked by a cow. The pup had gone so silent, even as the cow bayed and Toby barked for help. Did the entire family go silent? Would they stay silent if no one helped them?

That did it. Master and his family were just as much a part of him as Anne and his pups. They would not be abandoned. Toby refused. Unwilling to push the door any wider, Toby wiggled through the gap and into the house. Papers - glossy and bright with blue and yellow, a smiling human on them with its thumb up - littered the floor. Master’s shoes were not by the door. _No_ shoes were by the door. The house stayed silent, making Toby’s nails against the linoleum that much louder. 

He reached the stairs, paw resting on the soft covering as he sniffed. The right scents were there, but fainter than usual. Not as fresh. Surely, even if they had gone silent, he would still smell them. Were they really -

\- A bang at the door made Toby flinch and cower. One of the metal masters, its three 'eyes' focused on the shepherd and its three 'hands' at the ready, floated just before the threshold. It spoke something, tone incredulous and angry. One of the 'hands' pointed at Toby, and then towards the barn.

The metal masters were not his Master, but Toby was being a bad dog. He didn’t need to be told twice.

He was out the door, the metal master’s flame warming his back, and down the gravel path. The cows mooed, most of them finished being milked and hungry. Toby had a job to do. When Master came back - because he _would_ be back - Toby would make up for trespassing in Master's house. He would make his Master proud.

Toby poured his fear into his job. The process was long and hard without Anne at his side. It had been years since Toby did this on his own, and he wasn’t a young pup anymore. The cows were guided out to pasture and then back to the barn as the sun reached its zenith. Then they would go back to grazing until the moon shone in the sun’s dying light. Thankfully, the cows seemed to catch onto the fact that something was wrong and were unusually cooperative. Lethargic, even. That didn’t mean that he didn’t collapse down onto his side the moment he reached his mate and pups. 

Anne licked at his ear, and the pups wiggled. One of the metal masters provided them with their evening meal. The sun sank into the distance, diving into the bay and below the sea. Master would be back in the morning, everything would go back to normal. Master would scratch between his ears and call him a good boy for doing his job. Anne would be back by his side in the fields. Life would be good once again.

Early in the morning, before the pups stirred, there came a flash of light. A flicker of stars falling to earth. Silent, but fast. Illuminating the distance, flaring like the sun before darkening once again. A strange wind blew from the mountains. Inside the shed, Toby and his family slept, trusting the stars to keep watch from above.

If Toby were awake, he would have marveled at the strange clouds. He would have wished that his pup's eyes were open, so they could see how beautiful they were, too.

**October 23, 2077 (Astoria)**

As busy as Astoria was, it was a quiet town. People tended to pass through Astoria, rather than stay. In the day, container ships and the resident Navy gunboats would putter through. People from all walks of life, living a harsh existence out on the sea, would have their first taste of solid land in weeks down at the pier. They'd get drunk, sure, get rowdy and make a few friends (and enemies). But they would always stumble back to their ships at sailing time, go down the river to their final destination - perhaps Portland or Vancouver. Astoria was a respite, the last water station in a long marathon right before the finish line. Perched on the side of the great Columbia River, pinned between it and Young's Bay, the little trading outpost turned city thrived. 

Of course, some had to stay. The Port of Astoria hummed with life at all hours of the day. Fort Stevens maintained its careful watch at the mouth of the Columbia. Cars trundled across the Megler Bridge, spanning the four miles from Oregon to Washington. The Coast Guard Station Astoria kept eyes in the sky, guiding ships that were supposed to be there and watching for ones that were not. Astoria held on to a steady population - Navy Heights was a testament to this. Houses upon houses built by the side of the river just east of Astoria propper, pristine and perfectly worn by the sea, river, and wind. With that population came grocery stores, dry cleaners, hardware shops, even the occasional car lot. Even more people were needed to staff these.

With people came children, as they usually did. With children came schools. Astoria was no different, of course. The small town had three - elementary, middle, and high - peppered throughout the small peninsula. Their attendance, like the town itself, was small but steady. Underfunded, as all the schools were these days, but the class sizes were small, and the people were friendly. Perhaps that (and the thought of living so close to the ocean) was what drew Penelope Brown to the little, busy town.

Penny had always wanted to be a teacher. While the little boys her age wanted to be soldiers and the little girls wanted to be nurses, Penny looked up to her own teacher. To be able to help people, to watch them grow… well, it inspired her. Even when Anchorage was invaded and budgets were accordingly slashed, even as she saw the effect on her own teachers and professors, the dream remained. So she’d picked herself up by her proverbial bootstraps and shipped off to college.

She got lucky. What were the chances of Astoria Middle School’s sixth-grade teacher retiring right when she got her degree? What were the odds of her jumping on the job posting before someone else got the chance? What were the chances of her, a young and admittedly inexperienced graduate, actually _getting_ the job? She thanked her lucky stars every night. They knew that others had it much, much worse, especially since the draft opened to all able-bodied persons. Yes, she was the lucky one, and she made sure not to forget it.

Penny would think about that when things would get tough. She was thinking about it right now. Currently, she was slouched over her desk, freckled arms laid out before her as she glared down a spot between the two. Mrs. Williams, the previous teacher of AMS’ sixth-grade class, had left more than an empty seat when she left. Over 30 years of serving Astoria, she’d managed to garner quite a reputation, especially for the elaborate holiday parties she’d host for the kids. Apparently, they were sort of a rite of passage - every native of Astora had attended one and eagerly awaited their children to do the same.

Who was she to disappoint? The kids had gone through so much - all the paranoia, all the stress. Seeing their parents crack and crumble, some never seeing their parents again. Halloween was traditionally a sleepover - so just a few extra hours of watching the kids. They’d be asleep most of the time. Truly, it was no skin off her teeth. So, she’d stayed after school, painfully aware of the big shoes to fill. 

Miss Violet, sixth grade’s Mrs. Nanny, was over the moon that the tradition had been carried on. In all honesty, the Mrs. Nanny had been the one to do all the work. The lilac-colored robot hovered around the room, pasting little ghosts on the windows and joyfully laying out the streamers. “Mrs. Williams taught me how to do it - and I’ve had ten years to learn!” She’d twittered as Penny stepped into a classroom that she barely recognized. Something on her face must have betrayed her guilt at not helping, and Miss Violet (ever observant, startlingly so at times) continued. “Don’t you fret, dear. Now, if you could fetch the TV, please? After that I can assist you in moving the desks.”

An hour later and Penny found her gaze rising from her desk to watch her coworker. Miss Violet didn’t keep still, even after the classroom had been transformed. Her three optical stalks swayed to and fro, finding little things to tidy that no one would ever notice. Mr. Lee’s radio echoed from down the hallway as he swept the halls, joining the clink of Miss Violet’s limbs as she moved. With a quiet click, the clock hanging over her desk hit 6. Miss Violet perked up. “Oh goodness! They’ll be here any moment. I can’t wait!”

In the end, five children out of a class of 21 arrived. With the recent tensions in China, she couldn’t be surprised. Disappointed, yes, but she understood - most wanted to keep their loved ones close by nowadays. A few even fled the surface entirely. Little Emma Wickers and her family were part of Vault 23, which sealed up just last week. A little premature, in Penny’s opinion, but it wasn’t her decision. She could only hope that Emma’s new teacher was accommodating of her stutter, the poor dear. 

The small attendance took the wind out of Penny’s sails, but Miss Violet continued as if she hadn’t even noticed. The kids chattered, all decked out in their Halloween costumes. The twins, James and Joan, wore black and white - a shaky S and P on the front of their shirts. Joan had gravitated to Miss Violet, as usual, while her brother immediately found Franky, who was dressed as a pirate. The two were thick as thieves, much to Penny’s delight. Franky was an orphan, one of many nowadays. Though the thought was commonplace, it didn't keep the less-understanding children from pressing on that bruise. She’d put up with their incessant chattering and plotting if it meant getting some normalization in Franky's life. Something for her to keep. Little Ruth, dressed as a princess in a sparkly red gown, had wiggled her way over to her desk and pulled out a book. That left… oh dear.

Hob and Jude really were good kids. Jude was bright and self-confident, though she didn't speak much in class. Hob was passionate and brave, loud, and rowdy like many boys his age. Together, they got along like an earthquake and a hurricane. 

“I already _told_ you. I just didn’t want to wear a stupid costume.” Jude stared up at the larger kid, dark brown eyes shining with irritation. Hob stiffened.

“But you only get to wear one once a year. Why _wouldn’t_ you? Is there somethin’ wrong with you? Mom said -” Oh no. Penny stood from behind her desk and hurried towards the two. Usually, she’d let them talk it out, as long as they were polite about it, but once Hob’s mother was involved Penny drew the line. Mrs. Miller had her reasons to be angry - her husband had passed during the initial invasion of Anchorage, leaving her with a young son and nothing more. But her anger tended not towards the Chinese, but towards her own neighbors. Penny prayed that her paranoia wouldn’t rub off on her son. Hob deserved to grow up without hate.

Penny reached the two just as Jude opened her mouth, the girl’s eyes hard as flint. “Hey now, it’s perfectly fine if Joan didn’t want to wear a costume,” Penny said soothingly, placing a hand on Hob’s shoulder. “You don’t need a costume to eat candy or watch cartoons, right?” Hob frowned with a shrug.

“Yeah, i guess. But why _not_ wear one? That’s weird. My Ma said that people actin’ weird are the first sign of them being commies.” Ah, there it was. Jude’s dark eyes went wide and it looked like she was about to punch the blonde-haired boy. 

Mercifully, Miss Violet swooped in and placed one of her servos on Jude’s shoulder. “Ah! Miss Davis. Miss Garcia and I are involved in a discussion over Edgar Allan Poe’s _Annabel Lee._ I know how much you appreciate his work, and I would like your opinion. Come now, dear.” And with that, Jude was shepherded away, leaving a frowning Hob in their wake. If Penny didn’t think that Miss Violet was a saint before, she certainly did now.

The situation diffused, Penny explained to Hob how baseless accusations were harmful. She could practically see the words go in and out of the young man’s ears. A few minutes later and he was skipping off to Franky and James, leaving the room almost cleanly divided. Penny was worried that Ruth had slipped off, but quickly saw the gleam of her penlight from under a desk.

Soon, the TV was set up, and the middle of the classroom turned into a blanket-filled theatre. The pudgy-faced, blonde-haired mascot of some company skipped along on the monitor, unaware of the ghosts trailing behind him. One after the other, they worked their way through the discography that Mrs. Williams left. They were old, but colorful commentary from Franky, James, and Hob kept the rest of the classes’ attention. 

She was tempted to call it a day once the clock ticked over to 12 am, but she hesitated to do anything until a green 3 shone back at her. By that time, her charges had gone silent. The only sound in the classroom was the TV, the soft hum of Miss Violet’s thruster, and the gentle breathing of its occupants. Penny couldn’t help but smile.

Quietly, she came from behind her desk and towards the front of the classroom, turning off Ruth’s abandoned penlight in the process. The TV turned off with a quiet buzz, abandoning the room to the darkness of the night. Only the subdued light of Miss Violet’s thrusters guided her way back to her desk. With a mumbled goodnight to Miss Violet, she tucked her arms beneath her head and closed her eyes...

The door slammed open in what felt like just a blink later, but her terminal read 6am. The fluorescent lighting of the hallway streamed in and caused the children to stir. “Miss Brown, Miss Violet!” Mr. Lee said. The fear in his voice made her stomach turn. Electronic, low-toned sounds came from the radio at his hip. “It’s the Chinese. Good God, they’ve done it.”

The coming moments blended together in a storm of fear and adrenaline. Before Penny knew it, Ruth was slung over her shoulder and screaming. Joan and James held onto each other like a lifeline, Mr. Lee’s large hand on James’ shoulder. Miss Violet had Hob, Jude, and Franky’s hands in each of her servos. They were talking, Franky close to tears and Ruth sobbing something into the crook of Penny’s neck. Penny couldn’t hear it, not over the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears. 

“Lemme go! I have to get to them!” One of Ruth’s fists slammed between Penny’s shoulder blades, but her feet didn’t falter.

“W-what’s happening? I don’t-” Miss Violet hushed Franky and muttered something at the young girl.

“It’s the Reds! My Ma was right!” Hob seemed much too happy, considering the situation. Penny didn’t have the mind to reprimand him.

The door to the shelter loomed up ahead. Penny thanked her lucky stars that the school even had one, government-mandated as it may be. Mr. Lee shoved open the large doors with his shoulder. 

_”NORAD has confirmed nuclear warhead launches from the coast of California. Citizens are recommended to-” _The signal fizzled out into static as they descended down a tight, steel staircase. Ruth let out an enraged scream as the door shut behind them.__

__“My family! They need me! Please, let me go!” Penny slung Ruth down from off her shoulder once they reached the shelter itself, but needed to grab her once again when she tried to dart past. Another heart-breaking scream and Ruth thrashed in her grip._ _

__“Ruth, honey, please. We need to stay-” and then the rumble started, like thunder that didn’t end. The shelter shook around them, the sound of air whistling down the hallway just outside and up. One of the children screamed. Penny crushed Ruth to her chest and hunched over her head. At least she didn’t struggle. Hell on Earth was the only way she could describe it. The souls of the damned unleashed from down below and whistling through the mortal realm. Something collapsed up above, causing the shelter to shutter and dust to fall from the ceiling. For the first time in years, Penny prayed._ _

__The sound faded after two hours, but it felt like a lifetime. A bone-deep quiet was left in its wake, interrupted by Miss Violet’s shaky singing and soft sobs. Outside - well, there was no evidence that there was an outside anymore. It was too warm for a late-October evening. The shelter felt like an oven. The air tasted of metal, and the quiet gouged in her ears. At that moment, Penny wasn’t sure if the silence was better or worse. As the situation sunk in, she couldn't help it. Her arms crossed over her knees, and soon her soft sobs joined the subtle cacophony of the shelter._ _

__**October 23, 2077 (Woodburn)** _ _

__The message came in the wee hours of the morning, making her terminal flicker to life and fill the air of her room with a soft buzz. If she'd been asleep, she might have been angry at the interruption. A few hours of good z’s were hard to come by nowadays. If it wasn’t the lingering threat of war, it was whatever annoying bullshit the eggheads could pull down at the PA’s office. Lord knew she was going through enough coffee to put herself on a watchlist. Getting tattled on to the Vigilant Citizen’s Hotline for hogging all the coffee - it’d almost be funny if it weren’t actually possible._ _

__Tonight felt like a coffee night. There wasn’t any possibility of sleep, so might as well do something productive._ _

__Officer Dorothy Schulz slid out of bed, put her slippers on, and stood with a stretch. The long days on patrol and sleepless nights filled with paperwork weren’t doing her body any good. It was going to catch up with her one day, but that day wasn’t tonight. This morning. Whatever it was. The clock on her terminal read 3:59 am. Not too bad. Her mind was still in summer, translating the dark beyond her blinds as somewhere around 2am. Certainly not a mere thirty minutes before her alarm clock would go off anyway._ _

__The message, as it was, hovered near the corner. An email from her favorite person, she realized with a sneer. She didn’t have to open it, though she did anyway. Acker was a pain in her side from day one. It felt like the damn PA purposely sought out her cases and the people she brought in, just to shit all over her attempts to clean up the streets. At every corner, he was there, looking just as displeased to see her as she was to see him._ _

__As expected, the message was an appeal to drop her latest case. ‘Not enough evidence’ her _ass_. Before she knew it, she was up and kicking her slippers off. Her sleeping gown was replaced with the rough cotton of her uniform and the steady weight of her pistol on her hip. This was a terrible idea, she realized as she grabbed her keys. Something that’ll blow the case even more, she knew as she slid into her cruiser’s seat. It wouldn’t change anything. _ _

__That hadn't stopped her before._ _

__By that time, she was in front of the Marion County East Side Public Defense Office. The large, two-story brick building loomed in front of her. It was dark except for one faint light on the second story, hidden further into the building. Her keys dug into the palm of her hand, and she took the few steps needed towards the door._ _

__The moment the elevator doors slid open, she was a blazing ball of fury and spite _”Acker!”_ The radio that’d been faintly playing from the only bright desk light turned off, and Acker’s head crested the divider. The man had the gall to look bored - amber eyes half-lidded behind his thick glasses, black hair greased over into a combover._ _

__“I’d hoped you’d be asleep,” he said, tracking her movements until her palms were braced on the other side of his desk. Officer Schulz sneered._ _

__“Good morning to you, too. Asshole.” Her voice came out in a growl. It was a well-practiced dance between the two. Cutting words and scathing looks with both of them leaving more irritated than they’d been before. “What the hell’s up with that correspondence I just got? I could have sworn it said that the case was being dismissed, but that has to be a mistake, right?”_ _

__Those honey-colored eyes dared to roll. “Well, there’s some good news - you don’t need glasses. I just sent out the call about, oh, thirty minutes ago. I had an inkling that you would like to know, considering how… invested you are.”_ _

__Her hand clenched until her nails dug into her palm. “Damn _right_ I’m invested. I _saw_ that asshole talking to that little girl, Ackers. What the hell is a man like him doing hovering around a high school, huh? You can’t tell me that’s not suspect.”_ _

__Acker’s eyes closed and his hand ran down his slightly wrinkled face. He stood slowly, straightening out his suit before locking eyes with the irate officer. “Now, let me put this in a way you’ll understand: you don’t have _shit._ All your evidence is consequential at best or eye-whitness testimony. _Your_ eyewitness testimony, to boot. I know it’s hard for you to wrap your head around, but I’m doing you a favor. You’ll get laughed out of the DA’s office if you bother them with this.”_ _

__Before she knew it, she was on the other side of the desk with her hand around Acker’s tie. A brief shot of fear (Why did she feel guilty? This fuck was going to let a young girl’s murderer walk free) shot across Acker’s face. A scant second passed before he schooled his expression back into well-practiced nonchalance. Officer Schulz resisted the urge to tighten her grip and _yank_. “Listen, you snake. That bastard _will_ kill again unless you get your head out of your-”_ _

__A blinding flash of light turned the night outside into day. From the corner of her eye, she could see her patrol car and the trees outside light up like a bright, summer afternoon. Just beyond the skyline, the sky turned red. Acker’s tie fell out of her limp hand as he turned and took a step towards the window. “What the hell is-”_ _

__Recognition hit her like a hammer to the back of her head. She was moving, her arms twisting around Acker’s waist and pulling him to the ground, curling protectively over his head as her arms rose to shield her’s. “Nuke! Get-”_ _

__And then the Earth _screamed.__ _

__The windows bowed and then burst inwards, letting a gale of hot air in. Papers filled the air, dancing up from the desks and flying towards the far wall. The skin on her back blistered. She could have sworn she heard Ackers make a small, frightened sound._ _

__Then they were falling. The linoleum beneath her knees cracked and splintered. The bricks crumbled. Gravity took hold, and all she could do was hold on to Acker’s arms. She saw the desk come flying, toppling over and moving much faster than a desk ought to. It came closer, just slow enough for the realization to dawn in Officer Schulz’s mind. She could see the grains in the wood, and then the world suddenly went black._ _

__**October 24, 2077 (University Hill, Portland)** _ _

__The heavy boots of Sergeant Abraham Carter’s power armor clanked against the steel floor of the shelter. In all honesty, he was moving on autopilot. This time yesterday, he was out patrolling the streets with Private Cook at his back. Today, he wandered the too small halls of the shelter, more than 1,000 feet below the surface. Private Cook was dead, somewhere high up above. Sergeant Carter doubted that there was anything left of the poor bastard, even with the power armor protecting him._ _

__There were no streets to patrol, so he wandered. Scoping out the farthest reaches of the shelter, dreading the moment his Geiger counter would whirl to life and spell out their doom. The Geiger counter remained silent as the dead, letting the echoed crying from farther down drift through the hallway. Carter did an about-face and went the other way. Whatever little privacy he could give them, he would. They deserved that much. Civilian or not._ _

__His boots led him back towards the bunker’s main hub, the cheery blue lines on the ground beckoning him towards the common area. Military owned as it may be, the shelter had bits and pieces of Vault-Tec littered throughout it. Yellow signs, that chubby-faced asshole mascot of theirs smiling out from each poster, the ugly as sin jumpsuits, the forced sense of _cheeriness_. As if everything they had known and loved wasn’t roasted to shit in the radioactive wasteland above. As if this was just a nice little vacation. As if everything was _fine and dandy-__ _

__A redlined alert flashed on his HUD. ‘RIGHT, LEFT GAUNTLET - EXCEEDING DESIGN SPECIFICATIONS’. Right. Carter forced his hands out of the death grip they’d slipped into, hearing the abused metal creak as he flexed his fingers. He breathed slowly, in and out, eyes on the blue line in front of him. _Perseverance, keep going soldier. You aren’t done for yet.__ _

__Just as they had, every sixty minutes since they got locked down here, he found himself standing outside of Ops. The main brain of the bunker was as heavily shielded as the rest - the pneumatic doors had to be a foot thick, the ventilation system self-sufficient. The room was completely blocked off from the rest of the bunker. It was a small comfort, knowing that if the blast walls sprung a leak they could all huddle in there. It’d be a tight squeeze, but they’d survive until help came._ _

__The heavy doors were easy to swing open with the help of his power armor, yielding with a hiss of air. He had to crouch and shimmy himself in. Ops wasn’t a big room, especially with the large holographic table in the middle. Benches ringed the outside of the room - environmental controls, security, communications. Even without his power armor, it’d be tough to get comfortable. Especially with the silence. It was quiet, too damn quiet considering the person he’d left in here._ _

__Specialist Bailey was a damn good soldier. Brave, devoted, smart - everything one wanted to have in a communications officer. She was also damn stubborn, insisting on staying and trying to get the bunker’s systems online. She was hiding, like the rest of them, burying herself in her work instead of in the bottle. Staff Sergeant Price already squirreled their meager stores of whiskey away, but there weren't a whole lot of places to hide it in the bunker. Commendable, but ultimately fruitless. Sergeant Carter still applauded his efforts._ _

__Still, the silence of Ops remained. He hoped Specialist Bailey had retreated to her quarters. It was coming up on twenty-four hours since the bombs had dropped, too long to stay awake and still be productive. Sergeant Carter rounded the holo-table, scanning the room._ _

__The lifeless legs peeking out from underneath said table hit him harder than any bullet._ _

__Shit. No, no, _no._ They - he - couldn’t lose anyone yet. Fuck, he should have taken away the guns. Should have known that this would happen. The bombs fell, their families were dead. Even Bailey - especially Bailey - would be tempted to find a way out, even if it was in the barrel of a gun. One, long stride took him closer to the body and he grabbed a leg -_ _

__-just to have the other fly up and slam on his visor._ _

__With the power armor, Carter stumbled back more in surprise than from the actual attack. The other leg yanked itself away, and he found the barrel of a gun shoved at his head, startled brown eyes just on the other side._ _

__“ _Carter?_ The gun lowered, Specialist Bailey’s shock turning into irritation. “Jesus Christ, man, I’ve had better wake-up calls from my _dog_.” Something in her face dropped, just for a moment. She put her gun back in her holster and rubbed at her eyes - by that time, the look was gone. “What do you need, Sergeant? And for fucks sake, please, at least take the helmet off. Don’t want to talk to any damn robots.”_ _

__He wanted to say something about radiation. That they had to be ready, just in case the Reds were invading. Just in case the rest of the army arrived and needed their assistance. That regulation said that the removal of one’s helmet in a combat situation was prohibited. He said nothing and slipped the helmet off, cradling it against his chest. “Sorry. Just wanted to check-in. Anything yet?_ _

__Bailey rolled her eyes but patted his armored shoulder as she stood and leaned against the communications terminal. “Shit-all, sergeant, same as the last time you asked me. I still can’t figure out if it’s interference, or if the antenna itself’s been scrapped.” She turned and typed something into the terminal, sighing as a red-text diagnostic report flashed. Sergeant Carter leaned over her shoulder, squinting at the terminal. It might as well have been in Mandarin as far as he was concerned._ _

__“Wasn’t it supposed to be reinforced for this?”_ _

__Specialist Bailey snorted. “Yeah, for a nuke. _One_ nuke. We’ve got no idea how many got thrown at us. We know that Portland got a direct hit or two, probably Salem as well. Doubt if Stevens is still on the map - those commie assholes always had it out for that poor fort. Imagine that, surviving a civil war, two world wars, only to get nuked to shit. What a shame.”_ _

__Carter hummed his agreement. “How about the counter?”_ _

__Her tight-lipped grimace pulled even thinner, one hand gripping the side of the bench until her knuckles turned white. “Now, _that_ you aren’t going to like.” _ _

__“Show me,” he said, even as his heart tumbled into his stomach. Specialist’s Bailey’s hands were moving before he got the last word out. The terminal flickered as she worked her magic, various reports being minimized and pulled out of the way until one remained. Carter leaned in. “Shit.”_ _

__500 rads per hour and rising. The handy graph showed the levels take a turn skyward, cheerily marking every new data point as they came in. Carter’s hand came to his mouth before he could remember the gauntlets, the cool metal startling against his lips._ _

__“Yeah,” Specialist Bailey said softly, shoulders slumping and dark skin turning grey. “It’s- it’s probably fallout from the south-west. Maybe Newport or Coos Bay. Wherever, whatever, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. We’re going to be down here for a while.”_ _

__Carter thought of Mess Sergeant Sanders and his family, how he spoke of his daughter and how the first thing he was going to do when he got out was find her. Of Private Bennett and his wife, how he had to practically carry the young man into the bunker when he couldn’t find her in time. Of Private Ward and how eerily calm he was, knowing that his parents were in Vault 14 and that he’d see them again if he came looking. Of the fear, of the desperation, of the consequences of being helpless and underground for too damn long. Of riots. Of scared people tearing each other - their friends and comrades - apart._ _

__“Keep this to yourself,” he heard himself say. “Continue working on the communications array, _after_ you get some rest. You know this system better than anyone - we can’t risk losing you. Eight hours, even if you just stare at the ceiling. Understood?” A stiff nod and a mumbled ‘yes, sir’ were his only answer, and then he was alone. Staring at the graph, dreading every new dot. They kept coming, one after the other. 505. 520. 550._ _

__And, just below the roar of blood in his ears, he heard the soft sounds of his Geiger counter start to click._ _


	2. I Am Become Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! 
> 
> I know I said I'd get this chapter out yesterday yet here we are, 12:12 am and _deffinantly_ not yesterday anymore but hey! It's here! 
> 
> Big thanks to velvetverve and Anonymouscosmos for their lovely comments - really, they were huge motivators to get this chapter out!
> 
> Also, feel free to drop by and say hi on my Tumblr @bee-be-me! Watch me struggle to form words and, heaven forbid, _sentences_ in real-time!
> 
> As always, I hope y'all enjoy! Feedback is treasured and appreciated!
> 
> • • • 
> 
> _I am drowning  
>  There is no sign of land  
> You are coming down with me  
> Hand in unlovable hand  
> And I hope you die  
> I hope we both die._
> 
> \- No Children, by The Mountain Goats

**October 23rd, 2077 (Woodburn)**  
Dorothy didn’t dream. 

The space behind her eyelids was black and empty. It was not the darkness of night - something that hid perps and masked their deeds, something that made it that much easier to press a gun to your back. No, it was soft and warm. It was peace. Dark velvet, soft and welcoming, it spread out as far as she could see. It felt like she could reach out and touch it if she wanted to. She didn't want to. She was content to watch. That, in itself, was enough.

_"...cier Schulz!"_

The dark lightened and became red, turning into something more like cloyed blood. It rippled and shimmered in front of her eyes. Warm. Almost too warm. The perfect temperature for a shower - straddling the border of scalding and just right. Just enough to feel her skin prickle. Just enough to leave her raw and feeling new.

_"Officer Schulz!"_

Lighter still, like the dark pink of a setting sun, turning the sky aglow and blooming with yellow and orange. Fireworks. Her eyes moved, and the colors danced. She could feel the outline of her body - feel her fingers and toes and the soft breath of someone far too close... 

_"Dorothy!"_

For a moment, she mourned the darkness. For much longer, she mourned the peace.

She breathed in and the air was on fire, burning down her windpipe like whiskey and settling into her lungs. Crumbled pieces of linoleum and brick dug into her cheek and chin, dust on her eyelashes. Something heavy laid across her waist, and she couldn't feel her feet. She groaned and let her eyes flicker open. She wished she'd kept them closed.

Acker's amber eyes stared back at her, lined with white and pupils blown wide. His hair, usually so prim and proper and carefully greased back, stuck up at odd angles. It curled - she realized - and something in her found it funny. His tan suit was rumpled and smeared with dirt and something darker. It was hard to tell, considering how damn dark it was. Beyond him, she caught a glimpse of the night sky - dark with all too many stars.

She licked her lips. When her voice came out, it sounded little more than a croak. "Jesus, Acker. Catch the plates on the truck that ran you over? I owe the driver fifty bucks." Acker - instead of readying an asinine comment - drew back on his haunches with a heaving sigh. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Very suddenly, she recognized the death grip he had on her arm.

"Oh thank Christ," his words came out jumbled together, all in one breath. "I thought you were dead, God, I don't know what I would have done-," he continued to talk, the words quick and desperate. Malformed in a way that she simply wasn't expecting from the smart-mouthed lawyer. Had she ever heard him say so much in one sitting? The _wrongness_ of the situation itched at the base of her skull. Where was Acker, and who was this scared, little man in front of her? She twisted her arm and grabbed onto his elbow, giving it a squeeze. Acker looked almost surprised- good. At least she'd found one way to shut him up. She needed to think.

The message, the drive, talking to Acker, the _bomb_. "Shit." She tried to sit up, but the heavy pressure on her hips kept her from getting her legs under her. Acker gasped and grabbed her shoulder, guiding her back down. 

"You're hurt, you stubborn mule. Stay down." He grumbled. The tone of his voice only made her want to try again, but the building gnawing pain in her body convinced her not to. Her sides burned with an odd ache that radiated up her flanks. Something wet pressed against the nape of her neck. Pins and needles raced up her legs and congregated at the point where the desk and her body met. Her mouth tasted of iron and dust. Warm blood warm dripped down her temple, smearing on the ground when she turned to fully look at Acker.

He had his legs folded beneath him, parts of his trousers ripped and burned. The dark smudges were blood, she realized with a shock, but none of the patches seemed to be expanding. There was a crack in his glasses that feathered out over his left eye. He wore an expression she’d never even thought about him having - something unsure and scared and sharp. _Like a frightened deer,_ she thought unhappily. _Where the hell’s my hunting rifle…_

Somehow, the malicious thought didn't feel as good as she expected. A shame.

“Sitting on my ass ain’t gonna help us here,” she retorted after a few seconds. “C’mon and try to lift an’ I’ll pull myself out. _Don’t_ look at me like that, just do it.” Uncertain as he was, Acker shifted over the cracked linoleum. With him out of the way, she could see what was left of the office. Desks and chairs had been scattered around haphazardly, paper falling like confetti and covering everything like snow. There was a hole in the wall and the ceiling was slanted a little more than she’d like - that is, to say, at all. In her humble opinion, roofs (especially ones above her head) had no right to be anything but perfectly straight.

“Fucking hell…” she breathed. This was really happening, then. She never thought they’d actually do it, the cowards. Yet, here she was, wrong and pinned and probably soaking up radiation like a sponge. 

Something brushed against her leg and she hissed, nerves flaring to life and leaving her disjointed. “Sorry,” Acker said just a little too quickly. “I’m ready. Are you sure you’ll-”

“Just lift on three. One, two, _three-_ ” Acker wheezed, and the weight lessened. She drove her heels into the ground - or, at least that’s what she _tried_ to do. They moved, but she couldn’t tell by how much or exactly what she was touching - if anything. The pins and needles turned into knives and bullets and she bit her lip lest she screams. She scrambled back on her palms just in time for Acker to drop the desk once again, the fallen file case keeping it from crushing her ankles instead. 

Everything below her waist buzzed uncomfortably, the feeling turning into pain whenever she tried to move. She _had_ to move, she knew that, so she stubbornly wiggled her toes through the ache. Acker moved heavily as he walked, not bothering to fully stand, back to her side. 

“See? Told you it’d work. Maybe you should listen to me a little more often,” she couldn’t help but say. A bit of normalcy, something tangible and comforting like a well-loved blanket - that is, if a blanket could scowl and bite. Acker rolled his eyes.

“Not likely. Beginner’s luck,” he grumbled back, narrowed eyes glaring at her behind his busted glasses. Ah, there he was. At least something was back to normal. “You should try and sit up. I do not like how the roof looks. We need to get out.” 

Schulz hated to admit it, but he was right - not like she’d actually tell him that. Begrudgingly, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. She felt Ackers move, the brush of his hand near her arm, but he froze. “Oh shit.” The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end at the tone of his voice.

“What? Acker you can’t just-”

“Your back.” He hesitated before gently grabbing her arm and pulling her all the way up. He gasped, and she felt the uncomfortable sense of being studied far too closely. “Shit, Schulz, how aren’t you feeling that?”

“I’m feeling just about everything right now, _Acker._ I haven’t ached this much since -”

His grip tightened, but she could still feel the tremor in his hands. “You don’t have any _skin._ I can't tell if the black is your uniform or _you._ ”

The world stood still for the second time in so many hours. The ache was bone-deep, settling on her flanks and shoulders. It couldn't be that bad. It didn't feel that bad. It didn't feel like anything. She couldn’t feel her back. What the fuck, she couldn’t feel _anything-_

She sucked in a breath and felt the air burn. The explosion. She’d been so focused on grabbing Acker and getting them both away from the window. Did she crouch? God, it had been _warm,_ hadn’t it? But not for long. Not long enough.

“Burnt. Shit. _Fuck._ ” If she couldn’t even feel it, it had to be bad. What did they do for burns? Usually, the EMS would take care of that. IVs? Something to do with fluids. Antibiotics. Shit they didn’t have, sitting here in a bombed-out office building. Shit that she might not survive without. 

Schulz focused on Acker’s face - the suddenly gaunt lines along his cheekbones and the dark circles around his eyes. The look in his eyes, similar to the hard mask he wore when looking over autopsy reports and crime scene photos. He looked at her like she was dead. Maybe she was, but not yet. She grabbed his arm, perhaps squeezing a little too hard. “C’mon, get me up. Looks like we need to go for a walk.”

**October 25th, 2077 (Tillamook)**

Toby almost didn’t notice the trees changing.

It wasn’t surprising, given the time of year. The wind was cold. Grey covered the skies above, a stark contrast to the other day’s blue. It took no effort to see that the seasons were changing. The trees at the edges of the pasture would slip from white to light amber, some even turning black before giving up their leaves - that had already happened. The evergreens, though. Those stayed grey and silver, even as the wind got colder, and the snow began to fall. Steady and consistent, just like his Master’s presence. 

Now, a few days after his Master had left, the evergreens looked awfully black.

Toby watched them from his post outside of the shed. The cows were out to pasture for the first time, and his bones ached. No one had come to look after their pups, so Anne had to stay inside, leaving him to his duty. Alone. Perhaps inside was the best place for her. First Master had left, and now the trees were losing their color. Would Anne leave, too? Would she take their pups?

No. What a ridiculous thought. He almost felt guilty for having it at all.

Back to the forest - something more tangible than what if's and thoughts. At least it wasn’t all of the trees, as far as Toby could tell. Just a few, to the left of the bay. Perhaps that was a sign that not all was lost. Master would come back, and the trees would regain their color. Simple. 

Then, the first black raindrop fell. The odd droplet splashed between Toby’s paws, and he almost didn’t notice. It rained often here - enough to keep the bay and sea full, Toby figured. A storm would drive the cows back to the barn far faster than he could, something he was thankful for. He was tired, and it was cold. If he could rest for this evening, he would be happy.

He looked down, and an inky-black patch looked back. Particles - silver and matte - swirled around before being absorbed into the ground. The air smelt of metal. The next drop landed on his paw, and it _burned._ Rain wasn’t supposed to hurt. Water didn’t hurt. This _hurt._ Like the floodgates were opened, the rain came down in sheets. 

Toby was already scrambling back into the shed, but he wasn't quick enough. The areas where the droplets fell felt like ice in his skin. A low whine came from his throat, answered by Anne’s concerned bark. The pups were fussing - Anne had stood. Uncertainty lined his mate’s stance, wanting to cost Toby's attacker but not seeing what made him hurt. He knew, but he couldn’t shake. He couldn’t risk it getting onto his pups. 

It burned. He cried. The rain pounded on the top of the shed. One of the metal masters yelled with their metal voices and uncaring tone. 

A strike of lightning lit up the sky outside, but the light was wrong. The cows bellowed. They needed him. Someone to guide, someone to protect. The rain turned the day into night - inky blackness, burning what it touched. He was a bad dog. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t go out. 

He was _sorry._

That night, as the rain continued to fall, the metal masters did not bring them their food. Resting in his place by the corner, too afraid to step paw on the soft, plush thing, Toby watched his hungry mate and pups and knew it was his fault.

**October 31st, 2077 (Astoria)**

Something had been bothering Penny, besides the painfully obvious. It wasn’t the unknown - not knowing whether the surface existed anymore - and it wasn’t the odd taste in the air. Perhaps it was being stuck underground. Perhaps it was all of the above. Her mind didn't make much sense these days - occupied with ways to keep her students safe and somewhat happy. There simply wasn't time to sit back and think at first. A few days passed, and she lay on her bunk after the children had gone to sleep. There, in the inky darkness of their simulated night, it hit her like a bomb.

The shelter was too small.

Astoria Middle School had one hundred students and enough faculty to take care of them. The school itself spread over an excess of one and a half acres. The shelter was barely a sixth of that. Bunks lined the walls, enough to fit a class of 25, and a small open space was left in the middle. A small stockroom - little more than a closet, really - sunk into the wall opposite of the stairs. There was enough room for one-fourth of AMS’s children, if not less, and that wasn't counting faculty. If this had been a school day, she didn’t know how many they’d be able to fit. Would that have slowed them down? Would the blast have hit before the doors were sealed?

Good God, would they have had to _leave_ some of them?

The thought haunts her, prevents her from focusing. _At least there's enough food,_ she reminds herself. _You did all you could,_ she lies. Logically, she knows there was nothing she could have done for the rest of Astoria's populace. However, logic didn't make much sense right now. Logically, this should have never happened. What happened to mutually assured destruction? Where was the army, the government? _Why didn't they protect them?_

And before she knows it, she's dry-heaving and shivering, tears she didn't know still remained pouring down her cheeks. It's day three, and they're in the middle of a lesson. There's no hiding in the bunker, no place to shield the children, so they watch on even as she promises that everything will be alright. Another lie, bitter in her mouth, but what else could she say?

The children - the ones that could be saved - fared little better than herself. Ruth doesn't speak - period. She glared at the walls, frowned at even Miss Violet, and kept to herself. The only real sound she'd made since going underground was to scream at Hob right before she punched him - and then silence, once again. Penny was no psychologist, a far cry from it, and Miss Violet could recite all of Mark Twain's writing from cover to cover but only froze when the two came to blows. A glitch in her programming, she said. "What is one to do when one's charge attacks another in your care? My directives say to protect both, but which one? I was so terribly confused, Miss Brown. I truly am sorry."

It was the first time Penny saw Miss Violet act in any way but upbeat and cheery - it made her heart ache from the _wrongness_ of it all, but what could she say? She hugged the Mrs. Nanny unit as well as she could, and tried not to flinch when her cold metal servos wrapped around her shoulders.

She'd made it a point to talk to each and every person in the bunker at least once a day. It wasn't a difficult task, considering their small number. Mr. Lee was almost always by the stairs, staring at the closed door up above. He'd murmur when he thought no one was listening. Something about metal in the air and too-thin walls. Whenever she'd ask, he'd smile and tell her to not worry her pretty little head, a sad smile on his lips. He knew something, something that Penny didn't want to know. Ignoring the problem was easy, just as easy as ignoring the war in Alaska or the USA's invasion of Canada. Fears and thoughts were neatly packed away. What else could she do?

Focus on the children. It wasn't easy, but it could be done. _The children first._

Joan and James were glued at the hip before, but now they were inseparable. Even when Hob came around to talk to James, or Joan asked Miss Violet about Mary Shelley again ("Goodness, child! _Frankenstein_ isn't for someone your age! My, even when I received that novel, my very chips froze over from fear!") the other wouldn't be far behind. Joan would roll her eyes at Hob and James' prattling, and James would fall asleep as Miss Violet spoke, but they'd be hard-pressed to go more than ten feet away from each other.

At first, Hob had become a little more rash, boldly claiming that he and his mother were right. He'd grew quieter as the days passed into a week, either from the incident with Ruth or the situation fully sinking in. He'd stare at the walls a little too long, glare a little too hard at the other children. Half the time he'd withdraw into his shell, wrapped tightly in blankets on the top bunk, and just sit. The boy had come to her four days into their exile from the surface. 

"When are we going back up? I need to talk to my mom," he'd said, voice steady and cool, so matter-of-fact and expectant. Again, for so many times in so many days, Penny found herself speechless. She wanted to cry. She wanted to lie. A very dark, secluded part of herself wanted to grab his shoulders and shake, screaming that it was _'all gone, damn it! Can't you understand?! They're all dead!'_

She'd smiled, bile in her throat. "I'm not sure, Hob. Hopefully soon." And he'd grinned and thanked her and went back to speaking with Franky.

Franky'd been the least affected out of all of them, including Miss Violet. The fact that a child handled the apocalypse better than a robot hadn't escaped Penny's notice, but all she could do was wait for the other shoe to drop. In the meanwhile, Franky would smile and talk. "It's not too bad down here! It's kinda like a comic book. D'you remember that one where the Silver Shroud had to go into the Mad Scientist's lair and beat him up? It's like we're there!" "Hey, look," a ball of crushed sugar-bomb cartons clutched in her hand, "we can play catch!" The sense of whimsy she effortlessly provided to the rest of the children left Penny thankful, but with a faint pain in her chest. 

June... well, Penny didn't want to admit it, but it was easy to forget she was there. The tightly-placed bunks held many hiding spaces, and Jude seemed to only reappear for food and drink. She'd speak when spoken to, keep polite and kind, but retreat as soon as she could. Penny envied her, in a way. As childish as that wish was, she too wanted to disappear.

Life in the shelter had settled into somewhat of a routine. There was no telling what time it was, but Miss Violet offered to count the hours so the children would know when to go to bed. "After all, keeping schedule is an important part of a human's psyche, especially in children," she'd twittered, dark optics swaying to and fro. "I think it would do all of you good." Who was Penny to argue?

Twelve hours of 'night-time', twelve hours of 'day-time.' They'd wake in the 'morning,' Penny would get everyone some breakfast, and then Miss Violet and Penny would attempt to teach. Without books or holoscreen or even a blackboard, it wasn't easy. The two were lucky to keep the children's attention for an hour or two, and then they'd go back to chatting or playing. Snacks of peanut butter and pretzels would be handed out every so often, and lunch would happen whenever the children got hungry around the five-hour mark. Dinner was at ten. There was no heating apparatus - not any pans to set over the fusion core generator. No cutlery, no plates. Hob, for some godforsaken reason, had a knife which was quickly confiscated and used to open the cans of beans and pork. 

"So... unnutritious," Miss Violet had tutted, hovering behind her shoulder as she pried the can open. "Do humans really _eat_ that?'' The Mrs. Nanny lowered her voice. "It cannot be good for children. Are you sure there's nothing else?"

Penny had shaken her head and allowed the children to eat. Sugar bombs (heavily regulated - a sugar rush in a place like this would be a nightmare), pork and beans, Blamco brand mac and cheese (with nothing to cook it in, and little water to spare for the noodles), Cram, and food paste were all that filled the tiny stockroom. Enough food and water to last at least a few months, but startlingly unhealthy. What it would do to the children's growing bodies, she didn't know. She _did_ know that venturing to the surface would be much, much worse, so she bitterly settled for the unknown. 

"I don't know what they were thinking," she'd whispered to Miss Violet on their seventh 'night' in the shelter. Gentle breathing and Mr. Lee's snores filled the room just below the buzz of the generator The children had gone to sleep, giving time for her and Miss Penny to retreated into the stockroom. . Only Penny was able to fit inside the small room, but it provided a small buffer between them and the kids. "This place... it's understocked, small, the food's terrible. We have no equipment, no tools, no flares or radio. It- it's like they-"

"Never intended it to be used," Miss Violet interrupted her, an action Penny didn't think she could take. The Mrs. Nanny's optical stalks drooped, spindly servos curling together. "I know." 

Penny felt her stomach bottom out, shoulders stiffening. "Wait, you _knew-?"_ Almost immediately, Miss Violet drew up in indignation.

"No, I didn't know _that._ Miss Brown, if you think that I would allow the children to come to harm through negligence, of all things, I-" Penny raised her hands, and Miss Violet quieted.

"Sorry, sorry, I- it's just been-," she was going nowhere. Nothing would soothe over such an accusation so easily. "I'm sorry."

The universe saw her fit for some small mercies, it seemed. Miss Violet relaxed once again, voice calm. "On our first day here, I calculated consumption rates compared to our amount of food. If this had happened while school was in session..." The Mrs. Nanny paused, something clunking in her circular body for a moment before quieting. "It would have lasted three days, Miss Brown. Not nearly enough time for the radiation to dissipate."

When she crawled back into her bunk that night, Penny found sleep to be elusive. Who all had known? Principle Roberts? Any of the other teachers? How could they rest, knowing that if the bombs were to drop, the entire population of Astoria Middle School would die from radiation or starvation? Weren't there regulations? _How could this happen?_

Perhaps her sleeplessness is what kept her from noticing Ruth's absence for far too long.

She hadn't thought to do head-counts; she hadn't found it necessary. Five children in a very small shelter, how could she miss any of them? How could any of them disappear?

Then, Ruth hadn't shown up for breakfast. 

Mr. Lee, Miss Violet, and Penny had turned the entire shelter upside down by the time Franky cracked. She sobbed suddenly, tearing Penny's attention from underneath the bunk. The girl's bright blue eyes were red and watery, her hands clenching the excess cloth of her pants. Her voice shook when she spoke, interrupted by a sob as Penny pulled her into a reflexive hug. "I know where she went. I-I'm sorry! She told me not to tell, she made me _promise._ " She hiccuped, tears fully running down her face as Penny gently pushed her back by the shoulders.

"It's alright, sweetie. It's okay," Penny said softly, frantically searching for the right words and dreading where this was going. "Take a few breaths, okay? I need you to tell me where she went."

Franky sniffed, rubbed a fist against her eye, and spoke so softly Penny could hardly hear her. "She went to find her family. She went outside."

**November 2nd, 2077 (University Hill)**

_The holotape buzzes and flickers, slowly coming into focus. A hand comes up to straighten the camera then falls back, revealing a woman. She's dressed in military fatigues, coat unbuttoned to reveal a white shirt. Her hair's dark brown and close cut, a stark difference to her light brown eyes. A chair squeaks as she readjusts, seeming unsure of where to put her hands. Metal walls and machinery fill the background, lights blinking and mechanisms humming._

_"Um," she wets her lips and looks somewhere behind the camera, "Staff log, Specialist Linda Bailey. The current date is... November second, 2077. It's been ten days since the bombs dropped. Ten, long, boring days." She leans back and crosses her arms behind her head. The chair squeaks, the noise carrying for a little too long. "The civilians are getting antsy, they wanna get out of here. I mean, so do we, but still. Father Stweart's kept em' calm, at least for now. Communication's still a no-go. I'm pretty damn sure that it's not a problem with any of the hardware, including the antenna. All the system diagnostics come back squeaky-clean. That leaves interference," her expression darkens, "it's got to be the interference. I'm sure someone's puttin' something out there, but we can't get at it with all the dust in the air. I guess we'll find out in a few weeks or so._

_"But! We do have some good news!" She smiles, throws her hands in the air. "The radiation levels plateaued sometime last night. We're capped at 874 rads per hour - way too much to go topside, of course, but at least it's not rising. One good thing," her smile falters. "It's about time we got one of those." She folds her hands in her lap and leans backward again. "I don't have anyone to celebrate that with, 'sides Carter and Price. They're not the celebratin' type. Everyone else's been kept in the dark, par Sergeant Carter's orders." She frowns. "It still feels wrong, but I guess I've got to trust him"_

_One hand rises and drags down her face as she shifts in her chair. "Y'know, Father Stweart said something about talking. That it helps, I guess. And y'know, I_ know _he's right. But-but you go down the halls, see all these broken people, and they're all going through the same thing, and I just-," she gestures aimlessly, "_ can't. _The words don't work, they get caught up. I choked yesterday - honest to God choked - when I tried to talk about Marilyn - my sister, for the record. And I just couldn't." A pause. "Bennett looked at me like I was a loon, and maybe I am." A long silence follows, filled only by Bailey's breathing and the insistent 'tap tap tap' of her boot on the ground._

_She focuses on the camera again after a few seconds. Her brown eyes narrow in thought. "Y'know, these things are supposed to be private. Doubt they'll ever see the light of day - looks like we won't be seeing it anytime soon, either, so don't feel bad. Anyway, I guess I can talk here. Better than nothin', I suppose." Another silence, Bailey's mouth twists into a frown. She scoots closer to the camera._

_"Through all of this, all the hiding and guilt and worry, it's not the worst thing. The worst thing's the helplessness, the forced reliance on whoever's in charge. It's never really bothered me before. There's always secrets. Who's banging who, who's gonna go on what mission, who put tar in the sergeant's power armor - they're always there. Now, we're stuck who-knows-how-far down and I'm keeping secrets - really important secrets - and I can't help but wonder what's being hidden from me. I- I trust Carter and Price - I really do - I just can't shake the feeling."_

_Specialist Bailey leans forward, words little more than a whisper. "I think they're hiding something. Something even more important than what’s outside"_

_"And I need to find out_ what. _"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Okay! Until next time, stay safe and stay sane!


End file.
